


The Beginning

by Azraeldigabriel



Series: A Beautiful Coexistence [1]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Angst, Bad Things Happen To Cecil, Body Horror, Possession, believeinasmilingcecil, canon-divergent, ichor tons of ichor, possessed!Cecil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 10:13:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6952465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azraeldigabriel/pseuds/Azraeldigabriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A deal was forged in sunshine and blood, a Voice was smothered and forced into compliance. But that was only the beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> I'm finally posting my stuff here after a long time. Every piece in this series consists of my Smiling!Cecil, who I roleplay on believeinasmilingcecil.tumblr.com. Feel free to drop by!

There were many things Cecil couldn’t remember. His internship, his family, various parts of his childhood… all of them were lost in a sea of confusion and muddled clips of half-formed thoughts. But this; this was something he would never forget. It was his entire fault, after all.

The host was currently pinned to the floor of his studio, spread eagle. Debris littered the space around him, his coffee mug that proclaimed, “Science is sexy” to the world now overturned, its contents having soaked into the carpet long ago. His broadcast papers were all but shredded, broken glass from the booth window peppering his body. Cecil would have never stood for this destruction in his beloved radio studio, but he hadn’t counted on this.

The war against the Smiling God had all but failed. With Strex on the rise, it was only a matter of time before everyone, as the ever-smiling company executives put it, “saw the light”. And see the light they did. Through wide, scorching eyes, they saw the light of the Smiling God, and after excruciating grins nearly cracked their faces in two, they accepted it.

It was this complete and utter failure that had landed one Cecil Palmer in this exact position, lying prone on his floor with one now very corporeal god above him, giving him a toothy grin. A pair of white-gloved hands held the host’s wrists firmly above his head, one knee pressed into the man’s stomach to keep him down.

“P a l m e r, I will a s k once more,” the deity intoned, the words oozing from his gleaming teeth like poison, “How f a r are you willing to g o for your t o w n?”

Cecil snarled, his tattoos writhing in agitation on his arms. “I told you, I’d do anything to protect them. It’s my town, and they are my family!” he spat, taking pride in the way that sentiment made the deity’s grin falter. “How p a t h e t i c. You are t r a p p e d, dearest C e c i l.” The god’s grip on his captive host’s wrists tightened considerably and his grin returned in full force. “Did you r e a l l y think you could e s c a p e? You are n o t h i n g but a v e s s e l.”

The deity bent low to his face, hot breath ghosting over the host’s cheeks. “P a l m e r,” he cooed, “I do b e l i e v e I’ll b a r g a i n with you. I will let Night Vale s u r v i v e. But, in e x c h a n g e, you g i v e me… y o u r s e l f.”

Cecil froze, lilac eyes locking on the bright eyes and smile floating above him. The deity was willing to barter? That changed things. He had to admit, the terms were not the best… but if it would release the rest of the town from the Smiling God’s reign, he would do his best to fulfill it. He took a deep breath, thankful that the god was giving him ample time to think it over. If he did this, his friends, his family, his dearest Carlos… they would be spared. What was his life worth, anyway? A community radio host was one small price to pay for freedom.

“Alright.” He finally murmured, nodding and trying to adjust his position on the floor. “I’ll accept. But, I have to keep my position here as the Voice, and you will…None of you will touch Carlos. Or the citizens.”

His struggles were met with an increase of pressure on his wrists and stomach, the deity smiling ever wider above him. “I g i v e you my w o r d.” he drawled, “N o w. If we have a d e a l…hold s t i l l.” The god removed a gloved hand from the host, keeping him firmly restrained with the other. He trailed a fingertip over Cecil’s cheekbone, following the curve of his nose to where the tattoo of an eye was neatly inked into his forehead.

Cecil barely had time to react as the deity pressed into his skin, a low chuckle resonating through the room. “Do r e l a x, Palmer, and s u c c u m b to the l i g h t. It will be o v e r soon.” No sooner had the words reached his ears did Cecil find himself reeling. The studio pitched around him as his mind became clouded with a cold, searing light. He could barely think, his senses sharpened to an uncomfortable degree. The god’s voice was no longer simply above him, but around him, in him. He had just begun to scream when he felt a pair of lips press to his, and the perfect light of the Smiling God washed the world away.

 

When Cecil managed to open his eyes again, he found he could only see through one. Fighting through a pounding headache and the tingling sensation that still plagued his limbs, he finally rose to a sitting position, grabbing at where his glasses had fallen and shoving them back onto his face. His mind was still cloudy, but it seemed now that the deity was gone.

“P a l m e r, I am s t i l l here.” A voice emerged from his lips that was not his own, causing Cecil to jump and pale. Great void above, he’d been wrong.

“Perhaps a m i r r o r is in order, C e c i l? I will p r o t e c t you.” The voice crooned, a sick bastardization of Cecil’s own.

The host shakily stood, using his ruined broadcast table for support. He shuffled out of the studio and into the men’s bathroom, thankful that Khoshekh had been at his and Carlos’ apartment since the incident regarding the Strexpet. Cecil extended a bloodied hand to the sheet that covered the mirror, every instinct and prophecy his mother ever told him flashing through his poor, addled brain before he yanked it away.

He nearly recoiled in horror at the sight of his reflection. One half, his right, was how he normally looked in every photograph anyone had taken of him. The left side… The left side was a different story. Where his eye had been now gleamed brightly, shining like the sun itself. Through that lightly pulsating glow dripped slow-moving rivulets of black, leaving inky tracks down his cheek. The same substance bubbled past his lips, forcing him to smear it on his sleeve. “Do you s e e, d a r l i n g C e c i l? You and I are o n e. A beautiful c o e x i s t e n c e.” spoke the deity through Cecil’s blood and black stained lips. He was a host in more ways than one, now.

It took more than a few minutes for Cecil to calm himself to the point of rationality. He’d done this for the town. He’d done this for the survival of everyone he loved, everyone he cared for. He was still himself, mostly. He was still Cecil Palmer, Voice of Night Vale, and he most certainly did not hail a Smiling God though he now possessed him. The god himself stayed mercifully quiet while Cecil calmed himself, going as far to coo to his vessel in his mind and to stroke against his consciousness with a gentle hand.

Cecil straightened, smoothing his tousled hair back and adjusting his torn clothing. The god curled his half of Cecil’s mouth into a grin, the radio host keeping his side relaxed. It was a terrifying look, but it would have to do. The deity seemed to be admiring his new form, chuckling to himself. “You are q u i t e the looker, aren’t you? My t h a n k s for your g i f t. Your body is e x c e p t i o n a l.” he crooned, “My d e a r e s t vessel, shall we d e p a r t?”

He didn’t have to ask Cecil twice; the man had already covered the mirror and was on his way outside. Cecil paused at the door, steeling himself and taking a much-needed breath. He rested his head against the stone for a brief moment before flinging them open and stepping into the desert sun.

He did it for Night Vale, and he would face the consequences, even if they would tear him asunder. It was the start of a brand new day, after all.


End file.
